


A little Petrarchan love making

by TheCosmicOwl7



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Doggy Style, F/M, Lemon, M/M, Multi, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:02:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCosmicOwl7/pseuds/TheCosmicOwl7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Italy loves it when Holy Rome recites poetry to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A little Petrarchan love making

Italy went about her chores in contented silence with her dear friend Holy Rome, privately admiring the way the empire had grown. He had matured a great deal in a very short amount of time and it wasn’t a shock that she found him handsome. Her eyes traced the newly chiseled jawline and the young mans piercing blue eyes. He had become a very agreeable young man and she, a very charming young woman.

It was no surprise that upon his return, they found themselves secretly engaged and it would later come to no ones befuddlement that they couldn’t keep their hands off one another. It had begun with hurried caresses and kisses, and had quickly grown into things even less pure. Today was no different than any other, the pair would enjoy a secret, romantic afternoon together and then rut it in the meadow, the Library or by the river like a pair of animals in heat. This afternoon would result in the same devious acts, the possibility of being caught making their behaviour all the more enjoyable.

Today he was reciting poetry to her, one that he used to nervously render to her when they were children.   
“Shall I compare thee to a summers day? No, Thou art more lovely and more temperate” He spoke softly in her ear, caressing her waist and placing gentle kisses upon the nape of her neck. She leaned against him, back to, as he leaned against the book shelf, tilting her head to hear his recital properly.

“More~” She cooed, wiggling against his ever growing bulge. He groaned against her skin, sending lite vibrations along the crook of her neck.

“Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines, And too often is his gold complexion dimm'd: And every fair from fair sometimes declines, By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;”

“Mmmm,” She hummed, letting her neck arch back, allowing Holy Rome better access to her neck “More~”  
“By thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this and this gives life to thee.” He pressed a trail of lingering kisses from her shoulder to her neck, enjoying the way she mewled at so simple a touch.

The silk of her dress was cool against his hands, and he splayed his fingers, until he could almost span the width of her stomach between his thumb and pinky.

“More~” She begged, panting shallowly.

He slid his hand north, to the valley of her breast and her breathing became stuttered. She was always so responsive to his touch.

“I am the east and you are the sun, arise fair sun and kill thy envious moon” He cupped the flesh, palming it and relishing in its perfection before continuing “who is sick and pale with grief”

He twisted a nipple through the fabric, palming at the rounded flesh as his other hand began the long journey from her belly button down to the apex of her thighs.

“M-more~” She whimpered as his fingers glided over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, teasingly.

“So are you to my thoughts as food to life, or as sweet seasoned showers are to the ground.” His hot breath tickled her ear and she wriggled against him, back arching slightly as he continued to map the expanse of her previously hidden territories.

“Italia,” he breathed, and she moaned. She was shaking in the cage of his arms as she lifted her hands over his own, pushing it farther south. His palm slipped over the fabric, reaching the lace hem under her guidance and slipping underneath, expecting to meet the cover of her bloomers.

He gasped in surprise as his fingers met thick curls and slick folds. She laughed, her head rolling back against his shoulder.

“No underwear?” He blushed furiously as he probed her blindly.

She giggled “I guess I forgot” her breath hitched as two fingers slid into her, her toes curling inside of her shoes.

He unfastened his pants, hastily unbuttoning them and freeing himself before moving behind her and rubbing circles into her hips with his hands.

His cock bumped against her ass and thigh and she waggled her hips, using the opposite bookshelf as support, trying to reach him; practically sobbing with need.

“R-Roma,”

His nickname from her lips was enough; he aligned himself with her body and with one careful shove, was sheathed inside of her heat.

He gripped her tightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh just below her lace garter belt. He thrust into her, using her position to pull her back against him, rocking her back and forth on her heels. Her bottom was making a delightful slapping noise as it collided with his thighs.

He bent over her, kissing her spine, just between her shoulder blades and the movement drove him deeper. She cried out and he knew that he was hitting that spot, the spot that was too good for both of them. They weren’t going to last.

His legs were quaking from the strain as he slammed into her, harder, faster; egged on by her moans, her pleading sighs, and gasping breath.

“Aye! Dio! Roma!” she was clenching around him, singing out in exultation and then he was spilling into her, holding her close and loving the way their bodies pulsed together.

He yelped as his legs gave out and she let go of the bookshelf, falling into his arms in a heap.

Ludwig smiled down at her, brushing her hair out of her face and kissing her temple and down to her cheek.

“Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain,Have put on black and loving mourners be,Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.And truly not the morning sun of heaven Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, Nor that full star that ushers in the even, Doth half that glory to the sober west, As those two mourning eyes become thy face,”

He hovered over her lips and she fisted his flaxen locks, closing the gap between them and crashing her lips tiredly, sloppily upon his.

“I love you Italia” He breathed , stroking her thick hair out of her face, careful of the curl that jutted mysteriously away from her head.

“I love you too” She whispered, ruffling his hair playfully before drifting off to sleep.

This woman would surely be the death of him. His once petrarchan love was now his lover and he couldn’t be happier.

**Author's Note:**

> ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
> 
> Petrarchan poetry is one of the first forms of renaissance poetry that originated in Italy! It's basically creepy stalker guys who love hoes they can never have. In other terms: Unrequited love or sometimes the woman isn't even aware of the creepers impending affections. Look it up, you might enjoy it, or it may annoy the shit out of you as it does to me. Soooooo this summary of Petrarchan love makes my title ironic? I don't know guys. Sorry. It's literally 3 in the morning.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
> Hope you guys enjoyed!
> 
> Stay tuned for more perverse stuff :3 I'm full of it 
> 
> GUT NACHT MEIN Kartoffel!   
> XOXOXOXO...X
> 
> -Brooke


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